The Afterthoughts of Prison
by Inks Inc
Summary: One-Shot dealing with the conversation I think Peter and Neal should have had after release from his undue prison stint. Tag to "Free Fall."


"I don't know if I can do this anymore, I don't know…if this is any better than prison."

Neal's voice was laden down with bitterness, his eyes watered down with fatigue. There was no way in or out for him now, and he had accepted that fact. But it had taken its toll on them. Peter's loss of faith, when he needed it the most had been a jarring transition. His suit, unceremoniously stripped from his back as the famous orange jumpsuit was foisted upon him, serving as a personification of that loss.

He had always thought, foolishly in hindsight, that no matter what…Peter would always believe him.

That if anything major were to come crashing down upon them, Peter…he'd know truth from fiction. But he'd been wrong, and it was entirely his own doing. He'd learned the skills of self sufficiency when most kids were learning their first spelling list. And yet, somewhere along the line, buoyed by the ridiculous feelings of _normalcy_ that had crept up on him, he'd let Peter in.

Stopped seeing as the enemy, started seeing him as a friend.

A fatal error.

When he'd been led out of that office, cuffs on his wrists and Peter's hand guiding him out…he'd been slapped with the reality of his situation. He was nothing more than a tool. A good tool, no doubt. Perhaps one of the shiniest hammers in the bunch. But he was nothing more than that, and never would be. He had fooled himself that he could be normal. That he could eat breakfast in the sky from his loft apartment, at the same time every day, every week. That he could hold down relationships, routines.

That he could just be any regular guy.

It was a fantasy, and one he'd been moronic to indulge in.

He was _the_ Neal Caffrey, and always would be.

Even if he didn't want to be.

"Why?" he asked quietly, "why didn't you believe me?"

Peter stared helplessly. It had been three weeks since Neal had been released from his undue prison stint, and re-released back into his custody. And things were far from normal, and far from ok. Neal had painted on the smile, and played his part well but Peter knew him well enough to know how to spot the cons that he pulled that caused him the most pain.

When he was trying to con himself.

He still felt the strains and pains of guilt about how he'd slapped cuffs on his friend. How he hadn't given him the benefit of the doubt, how he hadn't remembered that whilst he may evade, distract and confuse…Neal had never, ever directly lied to him. He had pleaded with him then, his only friend in the room, to believe him. And he hadn't. He hadn't even tried. He'd reverted back to the view of Neal that he'd held when he'd first walked out those prison gates, and it was an error he wasn't sure they could come back from.

An informant…in prison…was hardly an ideal situation.

So far, Peter hadn't dared to ask if anything had happened in there, as Neal had remained stonily silent anytime it was even skirted around. As he looked at him now, he didn't see anger. He just saw….misery. Misery that the one person who Neal had depended on to have his back, had stabbed him in it, without an explanation. How they had made it through the last three strained weeks was beyond either of them.

"I was an idiot, Neal," he admitted miserably, his office seeming hotter than all hell in that moment, "I jumped to conclusions. I judged you as the man you were when you walked out those prison gates the very first day, and not as the man you are now. I…was a fool, and I don't know if you can forgive me, but I'd sure like to try and make it up to you…"

He trailed off, a dull flush colouring his cheeks.

 _Make it up to you?_

What kind of a stupid statement was that?

Apparently Neal was thinking along the same lines.

"You think deserting me…as a known snitch, and turncoat on, as you would put it… _my own kind,_ is something you can make up?" His face darkened, and suddenly he was on his feet pacing the small confines of the office, some of the pent up emotion he'd been harbouring flaming in his eyes. "Do you know, Agent Burke…how I am _received_ by my old pals in the big house? Do you think they baked me a cake every night, cleaned my toilet with their toothbrushes?"

Peter felt his breath catch in his throat.

This…was the subject they'd been dancing around for the better part of a month, and it seemed now that Neal's rage was preventing him from keeping it in any longer.

"Because, much to your amazement I assure you…they weren't all that willing to sign up to Neal's best friend forever camp, Peter. Some of them…were quite _upset_ with me, actually. Apparently some of their family members were guests of the US government in other prisons, thanks to the dynamic duo of Caffrey and Burke."

He let out a bitter laugh.

"You know what was the worse, Peter? The very worst? It was that they all assumed the wrong thing. They _assumed_ that I would eventually receive special treatment; they _assumed_ that my _friend_ Agent Peter Burke would be pulling all manner of strings to protest my innocence. It used to upset them, you see? That I, a circus snitch had the benefit of an FBI agent fighting my corner, wailing my innocence into the ears of the higher up's."

His face twisted into the most un-Neal like smile Peter had ever seen.

"And you know what? I let them think it, I let them say it. Because to admit, to tell them…that the _one_ person that even their simple little minds could think up as being in my corner, had left the building…was too much. You know something, Peter? I may be "just a criminal," to you, but I have more honour than you. If the shoe had been on the other foot, if there'd been a freaking _dead body_ in your living room, if your prints had been all over the murder weapon and if you had been _seen_ killing said corpse, I would have backed you."

He paused, scrunching a hand through his hair in agitation as Peter sat in shell shocked misery.

"I would have backed you…"

With that, Neal fell back into his chair, a sense of deflation so intense about him that Peter felt sick.

"Neal," he mumbled, making a conscious effort to look the younger man in the eye, "I know I don't have the right to ask this, but please…listen to me, just for a minute?"

There was a stark silence as Peter's heart hammered against his chest, but finally, the dark head nodded.

"I made a massive mistake. I doubted you when you needed me the most, and trust me…I feel like hell for that. I do. I know that you skirt the edges with me, and I know that that will probably never change. But I _also_ know that you don't lie to me, and you never have. And that's what I forgot, that's what I fell down on and Neal…I'm so sorry. I realised my mistake the first night you were in there, but I was too much of a self righteous fool to act on it."

He drew in some air.

"I let you down. I set you back, you were making such good progress, and I threw that in your face, and I know that. I do. And I know you're pissed, and you've every right to be. But _please_ Neal…please don't break your deal with me. It's your right to revert to a prison sentence whenever you want, but…I'm literally begging you Neal, please don't do that."

He drew in another gulp of air.

"Don't do that to yourself, to get back at me. You're better than that, you owe yourself better."

He closed his eyes in chagrin.

"Please, Neal…don't."

There was a silence, as Peter trailed off and both men locked eyes. The silence was so intense it seemed monumentally loud as the wheels in Neal's brain were turning. Peter knew he couldn't say anything more; he couldn't take back what had happened, but the thoughts of Neal returning to finish his sentence out in prison was horrifying.

Truly horrifying.

Neal was struggling. He wanted to hold on to his anger; it was like a life raft between him and falling back into the trap of trusting the man across from him. But…at the same juncture, he'd never before had anyone, except maybe for Kate who cared enough to apologise to him like this. Peter was a proud man, and admitting he was wrong didn't come easy for him. Neal was a cons con and he knew when he was being lied to, and nothing that had come out of Peter's mouth had been a mistruth.

He chewed his lip.

He wanted to forgive him; he was self aware to know that. Even if it was terrifying, he wanted to let himself trust again. Wanted to return to the way it used to be. He chewed some more, conscious of the pale and clammy complexion staring back at him.

Suddenly, he snapped to it.

"One condition."

Peter's eyes widened and his head nodded in synchronisation.

"Name it."

Neal nodded slowly, before splitting into a shadow of his former grin.

"No devilled ham for at least three months."

…..

FIN

…..

A/N: Random drabble that popped into my head. I always thought that Neal's reaction to not being believed by Peter was skated over.

-Inks.


End file.
